A Picture's Worth
by AnaEvelyn
Summary: When priceless paintings start disappearing and leaving dead bodies behind, Jordan and Woody hook up the the FBI and go undercover. If they can survive, they'll find something more valuable than any art piece.
1. Who Wants to be a Millionaire?

**Greetings! This took me a bit longer than I would have liked to get started, but it's all planned out now so updates should be steady. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Do I own Crossing Jordan? Let me go check....um....nope, I don't.**

**Summary: When priceless paintings start disappearing and leaving dead bodies behind, Jordan and Woody hook up the the FBI and go undercover. If they can survive, they'll find a love more valuable than any art piece.**

A Picture's Worth

Chapter One: Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?

Jordan ran through the forest, cursing everything that had happened in the last two weeks. She should have known that something like this would happen—she attracted trouble like a magnet.

Right now, though, she didn't have time to analyze the consequences of letting the FBI send her and Woody undercover. Somehow they had figured her out. They suspected Woody, but weren't sure yet. Woody had told Jordan to run…if she didn't get out of there, they would kill her. He stayed behind to keep his cover and to try talking them out of going after her.

Jordan didn't know if he was successful or not. She had no choice but to keep going until she found a place to call for help.

Her jacket caught on a branch, and Jordan tugged at it forcefully, causing the fabric to rip. It came free, and she kept going. Someday, she was going to run out of luck…she just hoped that it wasn't today.

* * *

(Two weeks earlier)

Nigel whistled as Jordan pulled the morgue van into the driveway of the largest mansion on the street. "Sweet Nancy," he said clutching his heart.

Jordan chuckled. "It's probably going on the market soon, Nige. But you'll have to get a better job," she said before climbing out of the driver's seat and shutting the door.

Looking to her right where Woody just pulled up, Jordan noticed he was having the same reaction as Nigel. She rolled her eyes and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Maybe you'd like to see the inside?" she asked. "You know…where the body is." She smirked as Woody came back to his senses, and they all headed into the house.

Nigel got straight to work taking photographs once they reached the study. An older man lay on the floor, blood pooled around his head. A bullet hole was visible. Above the body, a wall safe hung with its door wide open. It was empty.

Jordan gently turned the man over, revealing an exit wound in his forehead. "He's been dead for almost 8 hours," she told Woody after taking the liver temperature.

He nodded and took it down in his notebook. "I'll check back with you in a minute," he answered, indicating the frantic house staff that was watching from the doorway.

Jordan nodded and continued to work. "Wonder what he had in the safe that was so important?" Nigel mused aloud.

"Whatever it was, it wasn't important enough for him to get killed," Jordan replied. "Too bad rich people don't understand that until it's too late."

Together, they put the body into a bag and onto a gurney. Woody came back when he saw that they were ready to leave.

"What's his story?" Jordan asked.

"Arnold Rutledge, age 62," Woody began. "The butler and the maid say that he had a normal evening, and went to bed around ten. Your time of death places him here at around three in the morning."

"He heard something and got up? There's tons of security stuff here," Nigel interjected. "There are cameras outside, codes to get through the doors, more cameras in here, and the safe is state-of-the-art."

Woody waved his arm around. "Yeah, got that, Nige. Unless it was one of the cleaning staff, we're dealing with a pro. The butler and the head maid are the only two on the staff who live here, and they're quarters are on the other side of the house. Neither of them heard a thing."

"What was in the safe?" Jordan asked.

Flipping his notebook, Woody removed an additional piece of paper. "Some sort of painting. The butler took the liberty of looking it up on the internet…we have to wait for the lawyers to get a confirmation. Apparently, Mr. Rutledge just got it last week." Woody scrutinized the paper. "It's just a bunch of girls in ballet outfits. Says the painter is…Monette."

Jordan took the paper from him. "Let me see that," she said. She rolled her eyes again, and showed it to Nigel who burst into laughter. "It's _Monet_…you don't say the T, Woody. And he's a really famous painter. This is probably worth millions."

Woody took the paper back, disgruntled. "Great, now I don't only have to solve the murder, but find this million-dollar painting as well?"

Nigel patted him on the back. "Cheer up, mate. We'll help you."

"Yeah," Jordan added with a smile. "We always do."


	2. Meeting the FBI

**Here is chapter two! Thanks to my three reviewers--love ya. Enjoy!:-)**

Chapter Two: Meeting the FBI

The next morning, Jordan laughed to herself as she sewed up Mr. Rutledge—Woody's face was a delicate shade of green. She shook her head in amusement. He had seen enough autopsies, yet even his macho, alpha-male personality couldn't take a little blood and guts.

"What?" Woody said from the door, noticing Jordan's delight.

She feigned ignorance. "Nothing."

"Uh huh. You know, just because you enjoy seeing the insides of someone's body doesn't mean I have to," Woody answered, correctly assessing the source of Jordan's chuckling. "What did you find?"

Jordan tossed her gloves in the trash before answering. "Well, cause of death was a bullet to his brain."

Woody rolled his eyes. "Really? I thought he starved to death. What did you find that is _useful_?" he qualified.

"Signs of a struggle. There was skin and blood tissue under his fingernails. Nigel is running that now…so when you get a suspect…."

"I can match it," Woody finished. "Anything else?"

Jordan shrugged. "Some hairs on his clothes, also in trace. Sorry, it's not much to go on."

"It's better than nothing," Woody sighed. His cell phone started ringing. He opened it. "This is Hoyt."

Jordan turned to discard her apron and take off her headset. Just as Woody hung up, Garret entered.

"Got another body for you, Jordan," he said. "Museum of Modern Art…security guard was shot."

Jordan looked at Woody and raised one eyebrow. Woody nodded. "Shot in the back of the head, and there was artwork stolen."

"Great," mumbled Jordan. "Just what we needed…a serial killer with expensive tastes."

* * *

The scene was very similar to the one they had visited yesterday, albeit it was a public museum. A large display case stood open, nothing inside, and a man lie facedown in blood.

Woody pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Well, I guess we can rule out Mr. Rutledge's butler and the maid," he said. "This was done by a pro."

"No doubt," said Nigel. "The guard didn't stand a chance."

All the preliminaries done, the body was put on a gurney and ready to go back to the morgue. Jordan was talking to Woody about getting lunch when a man approached them.

"I'm sorry, sir, this is a closed crime scene," Woody said to him as he crossed the yellow tape.

"A crime scene that my team is taking over," he said. Before Woody or Jordan could react, he took out a badge. "Agent Dawson, FBI."

"No freaking way," Jordan said nearly to herself. "This day just keeps getting better and better."

"I'll need everything you have on this murder and the one of Arnold Rutledge," the agent said, all business.

"Hang on a second," Woody interjected. "This is a Massachusetts crime. We have jurisdiction. You can't just barge in here and take over our crime scene!"

The agent looked unperturbed. He was used to fights with locals. "I can if a court order tells me I can," he said. He held out a piece of white paper for Woody to inspect.

"Why is the FBI interested in this?" Jordan questioned.

"That's need to know."

She rolled her eyes. "We need to know. We're not giving up any evidence without a reason."

Dawson turned to Woody. "Is she even a cop?" he asked.

Woody glanced at Jordan. "No, but I have the same need. The evidence doesn't go anywhere without answers."

The pair stared the agent down, arms crossed. Dawson had the good sense to give up. He sighed. "Don't you people read the newspaper? Robberies just like this one happened in New York and DC a few months ago. We took over the case after the third theft."

Jordan narrowed her eyes. "There were no fatalities there. How do you know they're connected?"

"There was a fatality in New York—a private art collector. Had his entire collection of Van Gogh paintings stolen along with a bullet to the back of the head."

Woody and Jordan exchanged grim looks.

"Now, if you'll give me everything you have on this incident, I'll follow you back to your offices to get the stuff from the other murder," Dawson continued. "Oh, and I'll need the other body as well."

Jordan shook her head angrily and started to protest, but Woody cut her off.

"Sure, you can have our files," he said mock-pleasantly. "But you get us along with them. We'll work this case jointly."

The agent looked back at Jordan, only to receive a too-sugary smile back at him.


	3. On the Market

**Yay Chapter Three! I really appreciate the reviews...hope this is just as entertaining. Enjoy:-)**

Chapter Three: On the Market

"I'm not giving him my body."

Woody raised an eyebrow and peered over at Jordan from the driver's side of the car. "Jeez, I hope not," he said.

Jordan gave him a funny look, and then smacked him in the arm. "That's not what I meant," she said. "I meant Rutledge."

Woody chuckled. "I know."

He eased on the brake as a traffic light turned read. Agent Dawson had reluctantly decided to let them in on the investigation and they were returning to Woody's precinct to share information.

While waiting for the light to turn green again, Woody looked back over at Jordan. He reached up and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Want to go to dinner tonight?" he asked.

Jordan gave him a rare shy smile. "Sure." For a brief moment, she contemplated what it would be like to let Woody fully into her life. Ever since their first trip to California, years ago when they were stranded in the desert and shared their first kiss, the notion regularly flitted through Jordan's mind. The thought was always quickly followed by feelings of fear and doubt, however. Jordan pushed both aside, as she always did. Things were best just the way they were…no risks, no hurt.

In a short time they arrived at their destination and were seated in Woody's office, files opened.

"Okay, what do you know?" Dawson asked impatiently.

Woody and Jordan stared back at him with looks that clearly said, "You first."

Dawson shook his head. "I'm letting you in on this, and I don't have to. It's my turn to call the shots." He paused for emphasis. "Now, what do you know?"

Woody looked to Jordan and indicated for her to start. "Well, from what I can tell before autopsying the museum guard, the two murders are the same," she said. "The perps shot both victims in the back of the head before they stole the artwork."

The FBI agent waved his hand with irritation. "Evidence?"

"Rutledge was shot with a .22. From the damage done to the guard, it looks to be the same weapon," Woody volunteered.

"Of course, we won't know for sure until I autopsy him," Jordan said.

"We have medical examiners on the staff, Dr. Cavanaugh," Dawson replied. "They are fully competent." He noticed Jordan's sour reaction, and smiled to himself. "Did you find anything on the first victim?"

Jordan shrugged. "Some fibers on his clothing and tissue under his nails. It appears that he struggled with his attacker."

"We haven't had much of a chance to look for suspects," Woody said. "We were looking at the house staff of Rutledge, but they are obviously not involved now."

"Irrelevant anyway," Dawson replied. "We already pretty sure who's doing this."

Woody and Jordan stared at him. "Then get the person's DNA and we can test it," Jordan said.

Dawson shook his head. "They're not aware that we know anything yet," he said. "It's a team…two guys, and they're very good. Your Mr. Rutledge is the first one they've left any trace on."

"Then get they're DNA," Jordan repeated. "Test it, it will match, and case closed."

Dawson shook his head. "These two are just the grunt workers, however good they are. We bust them, we'll never get the show runner…he's a black market art dealer. Sam Jugson. I've been after him for five years now."

Woody nodded. "Let me guess, he's never within a mile of the trouble."

"He's never within a hundred miles," Dawson answered. "I'm going to get him this time."

"You can still arrest them," Jordan pushed. "Get them to flip on Jugson."

Again, Agent Dawson shook his head. "It won't be enough…and Jugson is very good at making our witnesses 'disappear.'"

"Then what are you going to do?" Woody asked.

"Working on it," Dawson said. He stood up. "And now, if you'll show me where the evidence boxes are."

* * *

"I can't believe he took over our case!" Jordan grumbled before taking a sip of her wine. "Who does he think he is, anyway?"

Dinner, as usual, had progressed into a movie back at Jordan's place. Woody leaned back on the couch and nudged Jordan playfully. "He's the FBI, Jordan," he answered. "He gets to do whatever he wants."

Jordan pulled a face.

"Besides," Woody continued. "He said he'd keep us in the loop…and if I know you, you'll make sure he doesn't back down."

At this, Jordan smiled. They sat in companionable silence for a bit, the wine beginning to make both of them sleepy. Then Woody's phone rang.

"This is Hoyt."

Jordan continued to sip her wine as Woody stood up and moved away. His professionalism was evident…he was obviously talking about the case.

He hung up and turned to her. "We have an appointment with Dawson tomorrow at nine…how do you feel about going undercover?"

Shock registered on Jordan's face, but changed quickly to mischievousness. "That depends," she said coyly. "Do I get to be Nina LaVough again?"

Woody's brow creased in confusion, but cleared as he remembered the Sick Boy 23 case from so long ago. He smiled and sidled over to her.

Picking up his wine glass, Woody replied, "Not if I have to be Dale, or whatever dorky name you gave me." He sipped his wine, standing inches from her. "How about I pick the names this time?"

Jordan smiled. "That can be arranged," she said. They clinked their glasses together in agreement.


	4. Getting Acquainted

**Thanks for all the great reviews! I'm really glad you like the story so far. Hope the same for this chapter. Oh, and yes, Woody's undercover name is a tribute of sorts to Burn Notice (which I don't own either). Enjoy!:-)**

Chapter Four: Getting Acquainted

Jordan had been excited at the prospect of undercover work, but the FBI and its requirements had truly put a damper on her spirits.

"I wear contacts, you know I could just wear my own glasses," she said grudgingly as the ill-fitting eye wear was placed on her face.

"Your glasses don't have a camera set in the frame," the technology guy reminded her.

To her left, Agent Dawson sighed, while Woody chuckled. Woody would bet anything that the agent was regretting his decision to let Jordan in on the action. Although Woody wasn't too pleased with the assortment of 'spy gear' he had on his body, he also knew that it was necessary for gathering evidence and protection.

"Okay," Dawson said once the two were loaded down with hidden microphones, cameras, and tracking devices. "Your new identities…Michael Donovan and Elsa Ciraolo. They come complete with backgrounds that will stand up to scrutiny. You," he indicated Woody, "Are a black ops expert, complete with a dishonorable discharge from the Marines. Cavanaugh, your experience is in art. Specifically, in authentication and appraisal. You both will need to be familiar with these fields…we'll be behind the scenes to supply you with information, of course, but your confidence will make or break the operation."

Woody and Jordan both nodded.

"One last thing," Dawson continued. "The two of you are business partners…and business partners only. Not lovers, not even friends. If you're too familiar, they won't trust you. You have enough to be dealing with--stick to the business aspect. Your working with them is just a transaction. The less you give them personally, the less reason they'll have to suspect you."

"Speaking of them," Woody said. "Who exactly are they?"

Dawson nodded to the files in their hands. "Everything you need to know is in there. Butch Matthews and Simon Taylor. They're the small timers who you'll be working with--the ones we have the evidence against--but the primary goal is to meet their employer and get hard-core evidence of his crimes."

Jordan snorted. "Just like cooking with an Easy Bake Oven, right?"

The agent glared at her. "This is serious…and dangerous. You'll have to be specific, but vague at the same time. It's a very fine line to walk; if you are just going to joke about it, I'll get someone else."

Jordan held her hands up. "I'm cool, man. Just trying to lighten the mood."

Woody put his arms around Jordan. "It's no sweat. Jordan's done more undercover work on her own that half of the agents under you. We'll be fine."

Agent Dawson stared at them a bit longer. "All right," he said finally. "You're staying here until we're ready to insert you. You'll be meeting Matthews and Taylor tonight. Our intel says they'll be at the Shadow Room."

"The Shadow Room?" Woody asked. "That's a nice club for some grunt workers."

"Just because they're grunts doesn't mean that they're poor. These two like to live it up," Dawson explained. "Now, this may take a while…you could be gone for days or weeks. Go learn about your new selves."

With one last nod, Dawson was out the door and Woody and Jordan were left alone in the conference room.

* * *

Woody leaned over in the car and squeezed Jordan's hand. She looked at him and smiled devilishly. "You ready?" she asked.

"Of course, Elsa," he replied. The two agents in the front seats didn't say anything, but Dawson gave them a hard look in the rear view.

"Remember, you go back to the apartment we set up for you on 13--"

"134 Canal Street," Woody interjected. "We know, Dawson. We've been officers of the court for more than a day. We know the drill."

"Okay, but it's your butts on the line, you know," he answered. "And one-way communication. We can hear you, but we can't say anything to you. You'll just have to trust us to handle anything you can't get feedback on."

"Got it," Jordan said. Their car pulled to a stop a block ahead of the club. Jordan released Woody's hand and opened the door. "Let's go, Michael."

Woody followed Jordan into the dimly lit club. He watched her move confidently through the crowds to the bar, wondering how he would be able to act as if she was solely his business partner. The strappy purple dress she wore showed off her flawless figure perfectly.

Once they had drinks, the pair scouted the club for their targets, who were reclining at a table in the back of the room. Fortunately, there weren't any other people at the table, not even the token barely-clothed girls who flocked to guys like that. Jordan nodded towards Woody, indicating that he take the lead.

He walked up to the men and sat down across from them. "How you doing?" he said genially. Then he turned to a waitress. "A couple scotches on the rocks for my friends here." Jordan coolly took a seat next to Woody and regarded the two men with a calculating stare.

"Who are you?" one of the men, Taylor, said defensively. "You obviously don't know who we are. You can't just invite yourselves to our table."

Woody sipped his drink casually. "Oh, we know exactly who you are. In fact, you come highly recommended by an…acquaintance…of ours."

The other man, Matthews, snickered. "Right. Suppose we believe you…who is this acquaintance of yours?"

"We'd rather not reveal our contacts," Jordan supplied, not changing her demeanor.

Matthews gave her the once-over with his eyes. Woody kept his expression neutral, though he wanted to reach over and strangle the man. He needn't have worried, though. As usual, Jordan could take care of herself.

"You look smarter than that, though I gather you're not the one in charge" she commented. "This is a business proposition, not a party. You look at me like that again, and you're going to feel it."

Woody hid a smile. "Business proposition?" Taylor asked. "What are you talking about?"

"We know you've been doing some jobs on the east coast…regarding certain valuable collections," Woody said. "We want your help on something similar."

"West coast," Jordan added. "Interested?"

The Taylor sneered. "With people we don't even know? Besides, we're not freelancers. We're gainfully employed, and we like things just the way they are."

Woody shrugged, feigning surrender. "Fine by us…we'll find someone else to do San Francisco." He and Jordan started to get up.

"Now just hold on," Taylor relented. He motioned for them to sit down. "Names," he prompted.

"Michael Donovan," Woody stated. "And Elsa Ciraolo." He handed over a very generic business card with his fake name and a phone number. "Check us out…been in the business for years."

Taylor leaned over and talked quietly to Matthews. The second man got up and left the table. Taylor offered no explanation, but only smiled and sipped his drink.

Matthews came back a few minutes later. "Boss says to bring them," he said to Taylor.

Taylor got up from the table. "Come."

Everyone followed him out the back door, and into a large black sedan.


	5. Bridge to Nowhere

**SO SORRY for the long wait! First I was on vacation, then it was teacher's week at school...it's actually easier for me to write when I'm on a tight schedule, so now everything's back to normal. Moving along...this chapter has a bit at the end for those of you who are romantics. Thanks for all the reviews! Enjoy:-)**

Chapter Five: Bridge to Nowhere

"Where are we going?" Woody asked the two men sitting opposite him and Jordan.

"Your place first—assuming you have one—to get your things, and then ours," Taylor replied.

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

The man shrugged. "You want our help. Before the boss gives the OK, he wants us to check you out."

"You don't need us with you to do that," Woody countered.

"True," Matthews conceded. "But you have to prove yourselves. Do the next job here with us, and then will help you with San Francisco."

"And if we don't?" Woody asked.

The men met his stare. "Then you and Ms. Ciraolo pack up and leave. Find someone else to help you. Now, your address?"

Jordan and Woody exchanged glances before Woody complied.

The car stopped in front of the apartment complex that Agent Dawson had secured for them. Taylor opened the door as the pair got out. "Be back in 15 minutes, or we'll be gone," he said just before he shut the door again.

Once inside the apartment, Jordan and Woody found themselves face-to-face with Dawson. He wasted no time getting to the issue. "This isn't something we expected," he explained. "If you two want out, I get it. It's more than you signed on for. I'll just have to find another way to—"

"Forget it. We're fine," Jordan interrupted. "I'm not about to let these two guys murder another person."

Woody closed his eyes briefly. Not that he didn't agree with her, it was just…was she ever going to let him be the cop?

Dawson turned to him and raised an eyebrow for confirmation. "We're good," Woody assured him.

Dawson smiled. "Good," he said. "I had your bags packed already anyway." He gestured to the sofa where a suitcase and duffle bag sat.

"The duffle is yours," he indicated Woody. "And the suitcase is Jordan's. We've put Lo Jack on them as well as an extra precaution."

Woody and Jordan nodded and picked up their respective luggage.

"Let's go," Woody said, holding the door for Jordan.

In the elevator, Woody stepped close to Jordan and ran his hand down her arm. "You sure you're okay with this?" he asked.

Jordan nodded and caught his hand briefly in hers. "Of course," she said, her trademark Cheshire cat smile coming out. "Let's get these pieces of scum."

* * *

Once the new quartet arrived at their destination, however, Woody rather thought that they'd made too hasty a decision. It was in the middle of nowhere—a big house surrounded by a forest. The city was two hours away…Woody estimated that the nearest town was probably thirty minute's drive. Jordan didn't look in any way fussed about their circumstances, but then again, they were putting on a show for their 'accomplices.'

Taylor and Matthews took them inside and promptly showed them to two bedrooms adjacent to each other. It was very late, so they said that the planning would begin in the morning. After an admonishment not to leave the house, the pair left them and Jordan and Woody went into their rooms.

Woody sat on the bed and took in his surroundings. Nothing was special about the room. Woody wondered if it was bugged. He didn't think Taylor or Matthews were smart enough to think of doing it, but their boss was. Quickly Woody pulled out the device the FBI had given him and turned it on.

He checked the whole room thoroughly and found nothing. The closet was clean as well, so Woody proceeded to the bathroom. He yanked the door open and jumped back in surprise. Jordan was already there, doing the same thing.

Jordan looked at him amusedly. "I guess that door doesn't lead to a linen closet," she said.

Woody shook his head. "No…our rooms connect. You find anything?" he asked, pointing to the tracer.

"Nope," Jordan answered. They shut off their devices and looked back at each other.

Woody waggled his eyebrows. "It seems like we get into these situations pretty often, you know," he said. "We could have a lot of fun tonight."

Jordan grinned. "Yeah, right." Then her grin turned into a yawn. "Even if that were an option, I wouldn't be up for it. This acting thing is really draining."

She yawned again and leaned into Woody. His arms snaked around her and they rested against each other for long moments. Jordan let her eyes slip closed and she breathed in the smell of Woody's cologne. _I could get used to this_, the thought came without prompt. Reluctantly, Jordan pulled away. "We should go to bed."

Woody gazed down at her lovingly. "I know," he said. "We don't want to get caught." He smiled and placed a kiss on her forehead. "You finish in here first."

He released her and left into the darkness of his bedroom. Jordan watched as the door swung shut, missing the feel of his arms around her. She sighed. It really would have been better if that door _had_ led to a linen closet.


	6. Operation Ravine

**As a disclaimer, I got the information about the painting being stolen from the website of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. I'm glad you all are liking this so far. Happy reading, and thanks for the kind reviews...enjoy:-).**

Chapter Six: Operation _Ravine_

The next nearly week-and-a-half was devoted to planning. Boss, as their co-conspirators always called him, wanted to have Van Gogh's painting _The Ravine_. It was currently residing in Boston's Museum of Fine Arts. He wanted it not only to augment to his new Van Gogh collection from the New York art dealer, but also because of its added value due to a newly discovered 'hidden painting' underneath the original.

A day in, Woody decided that the whole "acting thing," as Jordan called it, was indeed tiring. This had to be worse than real acting, though—those people got to be themselves in between shows or tapings. Woody felt that he would turn into Michael Donovan sooner or later.

Then there was the added stress of the 'reconnaissance' excursions. Sometimes it was to buy materials; sometimes it was to stake out the museum. Whatever the reason, Matthews and Taylor always had Woody and Jordan split up. They never trusted the two to do something on their own. It was understandable…they were an unknown element…but it was frustrating. Woody worried constantly when Jordan was out with one of the guys at first, until Taylor came back once with a huge cut over his eye.

"What happened?" Matthews yelled, alarmed that something had gone wrong.

Taylor shrugged it off angrily. "She slugged me. Had the keys in her hand."

Both Woody and Matthews turned to Jordan, who rolled her eyes. "He was getting fresh with me again. I told him he'd regret it if he didn't quit. Now, he does."

Woody laughed to himself. Once again, his protective concern was unfounded. Jordan could take care of herself. He wondered how many other guys from Jordan's past bore the same scar.

* * *

A week after that incident, Woody and Jordan were seated on the floor of their adjoining bathroom. It was the only place they could take a few stolen moments to be together and be themselves. Sometimes they talked. Other times, like now, they simply sat quietly and enjoyed each other's presence.

Tonight Woody was leaning against the door to his bedroom, and Jordan was next to him with her head on his shoulder. He had his arms wrapped loosely around her waist.

Each time he inhaled, Woody could smell Jordan's flowery shampoo. It was intoxicating, and he wondered why the only times he could get this close to her was when they were a long way from home.

Whatever the reason, he would take what he could get. Maybe this time Jordan would finally lower her defenses and let him in. Maybe.

Woody was shaken from his revelry when Jordan shifted in his arms. Her head fell to the side and she snuggled closer. He tightened his hold on her and kissed the back of her head. Jordan didn't react, and Woody realized that she was asleep.

He couldn't blame her; their days were exhausting. He too felt drowsiness start to overcome his body, and Woody knew they needed to get into bed. Carefully, he moved Jordan into his arms and stood up.

Slowly Woody carried her into her room, pulled back the covers, and laid her down. After Jordan was covered up again, Woody took the liberty of stroking her hair for a few minutes. He fought with himself not to simply climb into the bed with her. He knew that if someone caught them together, it would be over for them.

Reluctantly, he gave in to his better senses. He kissed Jordan's forehead and returned to his room. He tossed and turned all night.

* * *

They were having another argument. Since they began planning the theft, the sessions had been peppered with quarrels. It was easy for Woody to argue, so it made being Donovan easier. Plus, not only did the pairs not know each other well, but they didn't like each other either. Disagreements were inevitable, and thus, believable.

Usually, it was Woody and Jordan against the two men. Occasionally the foursome would find themselves pitted against different members, but it was more or less one couple against the other. And whoever had Jordan on their side usually won.

But this time, Woody found himself siding with Matthews and Taylor. "You're not going, Elsa," he said firmly, pointing his finger at her for emphasis.

"Yes, I am," she countered back. "You cannot expect me to just sit back and watch, Donovan!"

"That's exactly what we expect," Matthews said. "You have absolutely no experience with heists, and I'm not letting anyone screw this up!"

"I will not screw anything up. I'll do exactly what you tell me to," Jordan answered. At this, Woody laughed out loud.

Taylor picked up on that. "Even your friend doesn't think you can make it, so you are not going! We can't have this compromised."

Jordan was about to protest again, but Woody cut in before she could. "This is not a black market transaction. We don't need you to tell us that the painting is authentic—the museum has already done that for us. There's no need for you to be there, and it's too dangerous anyway."

Jordan shook her head. "I can take care of myself! I bested Taylor, didn't I? There's no way I'm staying out of the action, needed or not."

Matthews stood up and came close to her. "You're not going, and that's final."

She stood up and glared right back. "Try and stop me."

Woody sighed. Like usual, whoever was on Jordan's side won the argument.


	7. Heist

**Hello! Thanks for being patient waiting for updates...this chapter is kind of the turning point...actually, I think the next chapter is...this one is like the closing chapter to the first section of the story. Anyway, what's a story about stolen paintings without a painting actually getting stolen, yes? Thanks for all the great reviews...Enjoy:-).**

Chapter Seven: Heist

Jordan fought back a moan and pulled uncomfortably at the navy blue cover-alls she was wearing. It was almost two in the morning, and she had been in this stupid van since four. She was bored out of her mind, and the small bag of chips that served as dinner was a long time ago.

She understood that the van needed to be placed across from the museum early—to keep people from being suspicious, as they would be if it rolled up in the middle of the night. Yet, Jordan could not fathom why _she_ had to be in the van. There was nothing for her to do but sit and wait.

To make matters worse, Taylor was there with her. He actually had a job to do…it seemed that for all his lack of intelligence, he was very good at hacking into computer security systems. The job didn't keep him from leering at Jordan every five minutes, though. More than once, she had had to control the urge to strangle him. She figured that this was Matthews's way of annoying her…if so, it worked.

A sharp tapping on the other side of the van brought Jordan out of her reverie. She looked to Taylor, who gave no indication of getting up. Sighing, Jordan forced herself out of her seat and opened the back door. Woody and Matthews stood there, wearing cover-alls identical to hers.

"It's time," Matthews said to Taylor. "Everything ready?"

Taylor made one last peck at his keyboard. "We're good. Keep the ear pieces on, and I'll monitor it all from here."

"Good," Matthews replied. "Let's go."

Everyone inserted a small ear piece into their ears, through which Taylor would communicate during the operation, and Jordan started to jump out of the van.

"Hang on, sweetheart," Matthews said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Jordan jerked back, but not in time. He had grabbed her hand and used a cable tie to secure her to the inside of the van. "You're not going anywhere."

"Let me go!" Jordan pulled on the cable tie, but it held fast. She looked at Woody for help, but he just shrugged. It was clear that he was enjoying Jordan finally being put in her place. She glared at them both. "I'm coming…we already decided this!"

Matthews shook his head. "No…'we' didn't decide anything…you wanted to come, so here you are. I never planned on you actually going into the museum." He chuckled when Jordan started to protest, then he became stony. "No woman is going to screw up my operation. You'll stay here…you can listen and watch all you want with Taylor."

With that, Matthews turned away. Woody took the doors to the van and started to close them. "Sorry," he said to her, only somewhat sympathetic, before the doors closed fully.

Jordan sat back in her seat and fumed. Being left out was definitely not something she was used to.

* * *

Woody followed Matthews to a service door at the back of the museum. His stomach was in knots. Not because of any perceived danger…there really wasn't any for him, as a cop. It was _because_ he was a cop, and he was acting like a criminal. To Woody, it didn't matter that he was working undercover to bring down a smuggler's ring…he was helping steal a priceless work of art that would probably never be returned. That seemed like breaking the law to him. That, and he knew that he would have to protect any security guards who tried to stop them—Matthews had proved himself way too deadly when it came to that.

Taylor's hacking unlocked the service entrance once they were there, and then they were inside the museum. Woody looked around…it was kind of spooky at night. Cameras panned each room from the ceiling. They hadn't been able to shut off the security—that would have tipped off the guards before they even arrived. So, Taylor guided them through the museum one room, and one camera, at a time.

The trick came once they were in the Van Gogh room. Matthews and Woody used Taylor's instructions to get right under the camera, and then Matthew's clipped its wire. If someone was watching that particular video feed at that moment, there would be a guard on the way. However, until then, they were free to move about the room.

Added measures surrounded _The Ravine_, but they were no match for Taylor. Time was the only constraint. Matthews told Woody to stay on the lookout for guards; while he dismantled the security, Taylor guided him.

Woody patrolled the room, listening carefully at each entrance before moving along to another. By doing this, he was able to hear the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked before exposing himself.

Woody dove behind a display and let the guard creep into the room. The guard's eyes were completely focused on Matthews, who thankfully had his back turned. If he hadn't, the guard would probably be dead. Woody waited until the guard had passed him, and then grabbed him from behind.

Matthews noticed then, but Woody had already dragged the guard back into the darkened hallway. He threw his arm around the man's neck and squeezed. Once he felt the man pass out, he let go and lowered him to the ground. "Sorry," he whispered to the unconscious guard, "But it's for your own good."

When Woody returned to Matthews, the painting was out of its case and secured in a box. "Let's get out of here," Matthews said.

Back through the maze of cameras they went. Woody breathed a sigh of relief when he smelled the cool ocean air outside, but he knew they weren't out of the woods yet.

The two men ran to the van, which Taylor opened right as they got there. An alarm went off in the museum—the security team had found the guard.

Matthews threw himself into the driver's seat and started the engine. The van careened out of its spot and raced down the road.

Once they were a safe distance away, Woody cut the cable tying Jordan to the van. She looked at him questioningly, asking if everyone involved was still alive. He answered her with a nearly imperceptible nod.

Both of them relaxed, and Matthews barked orders at her to examine the painting.


	8. Made

**I'm so glad everyone is liking this...hope this clears up some of the questions from the beginning. Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy:-)**

Chapter Eight: Made

Woody awoke late the next morning. He had assumed that everyone would sleep in, but he heard noise in the bathroom, so Jordan was already up. He sat up in bed, stretched, and stood up. Forgoing the process of making his bed, Woody put on a shirt and headed downstairs.

It was quiet in the kitchen…seeing a chance to enjoy himself just a little, Woody got out bread and a jar of peanut butter. In less than a minute he had removed half the contents of the jar and smushed it between two slices of bread. A tall glass of milk capped off his breakfast, and Woody sat at the table to chow down.

While he ate, Woody thought about how happy he'd be once this job was over. He couldn't wait until he was back in his own apartment, with his own bed, and his own clothes…able to be himself and for Jordan to be herself. This undercover thing wasn't for him—that was for sure.

Once finished, Woody rinsed his tableware and placed them in the almost-overflowing dish washer. He was heading back to his room when he heard voices coming from the study. He hadn't noticed anyone come down while he was in the kitchen—Matthews and Taylor must have been up all this time.

The voices weren't loud, so Woody had to get really close to the door to hear them. Then, he heard a voice that he didn't recognize. His heart beat went faster, and he wished that he had his listening device on…the unknown voice had to be Boss. Maybe he was here to collect the painting and the job would be over.

Woody pressed closer to the door, but what he heard didn't make his heart sing…it made it freeze.

"What do you mean, 'she's not an art dealer,' Boss?" Matthews asked. "We had them both checked out!"

"Not carefully enough, then!" Boss replied, sounding angry. "Her name is Jordan Cavanaugh, and she's a medical examiner her in Boston. She's working with the Feds!"

Woody heard a thump, as if Boss had pounded his fist on the table.

"What about Donovan?" Taylor asked.

"So far, he's clean…but he could just as easily be a cop," Boss said. "They came to you as partners…if he's who he says he is, then he's an idiot. He should have known!"

A pause. "What do you want us to do?" Taylor asked.

"You know what to do!" Another bang on the table. "You kill the woman, and figure out if this Donovan is for real. If he isn't, kill him too!"

Woody and his pounding heart didn't stick around to hear any more. As fast and quietly as he could, Woody raced up the stairs and into his room. He ran through the bathroom and didn't bother to knock at Jordan's door.

She was standing at the mirror, brushing her hair out when he came through. She jumped at the intrusion. "Woody! What's got into you? You—"

She stopped when she saw the look in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Woody took her by the shoulders and stared at her. "You have to leave," he said.

Jordan shook her head in confusion.

"They know who you are—who you really are," he explained. "I heard them talking to the Boss…he told them to kill you!"

"What? How did they—?"

Woody interrupted her. "Doesn't matter…you have to get out before they come up here!" He began to drag her towards the door.

"What about you?" she asked.

"I'm staying…they don't have anything on me, but they suspect," he answered. "If I leave, they'll know…and they'll come after both of us and kill us."

Jordan stopped at the door to the hallway. She pulled on his arm to make him stop, too. "But if you stay, and they figure you out. Then what?"

"I'll convince them that I'm on their side…that I'm Donovan." Jordan gave him a look of incredulity. "It's the only way, Jordan. I'm not going to let them hurt you!"

The look of near-panic in his eyes finally won her over. She nodded and they headed down the stairs quietly.

The door to the study was still closed…they could hear the men talking through it. At the back door, Jordan turned back to look at Woody.

"Just go," he said. "Go through the forest. You have the GPS thing…Dawson will find you and you'll be okay."

Jordan bit her lip and nodded. Then, she threw herself into Woody's arms and squeezed him tight. "Be careful," she said. A quick kiss on the lips, and she was gone.

Woody watched her until she made it to the tree line, and then went back upstairs. He had just closed his bedroom door when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He flung himself into bed and pretended to asleep.

He heard the door to Jordan's room open, then the one to the bathroom. Finally, his door swung open.

"WHERE IS SHE?"


	9. Present Circumstances

**Here's another action-packed chapter for you! Thank you so much for the reviews...I'm glad you all are liking it! Enjoy:-)**

Chapter Nine: Present Circumstances

And so, Jordan was now running through the woods and cursing her natural ability to attract trouble. Her torn jacket sleeve flapped haplessly around her as she made her way as quickly as possible around the jumble of trees.

She didn't have a clue where she was going…Jordan only knew that it was away from the house, and away from Matthews, Taylor, and Boss. She hoped that the FBI would notice that her GPS placed her somewhere she shouldn't be, and that they would take the hint and come get her.

Suddenly, Jordan felt a sharp tug at her right ankle. She fell forward with a cry, feeling and hearing her ankle snap. Trying not to scream at the rapid burst of pain, Jordan turned over and sat up. Only then did she notice a giant tree root sticking up from the ground….Her ankle was already swelling, and Jordan knew that she wouldn't be able to walk on it.

This was not good.

* * *

Woody paced around the small study, unable to stay still. He hoped that he had done a good enough job at sounding angry with 'Elsa's' disappearance. They hadn't killed him, which was a good sign…but you never know.

Boss had ordered Matthews and Taylor to go after Jordan…they had been gone for over two hours now. Woody hoped beyond anything else that they would come back empty-handed. Although he had vehemently expressed the desire to go with them, Boss had forbidden Woody to leave the house. Being unsure of his loyalties, Boss didn't want him out of his sight.

Woody stopped pacing when he heard a disturbance outside the study. Boss stood up from his desk, and both men waited. The door to the study burst open, and Woody's heart sank even though his face displayed no such emotion.

Matthews tossed Jordan roughly into the room, and she didn't get up. They had roughed her up pretty well, though she was alive. From the looks on their faces, they didn't plan on her staying that way. Woody's mind raced, trying to think of a way to protect her without blowing his cover and getting them both killed.

Boss walked over to Jordan's prone figure and pushed her over with his foot. She looked up at him, tear tracks evident on her face. Woody wanted to kill them.

"So, you thought you could pull one over on me, did you?" Boss said softly. Jordan didn't reply.

"Or maybe," he said just as quietly, while he turned to look at Woody. "It was both of you."

Woody used his anger to keep up his façade. "No!" he yelled. "I am no cop! She played me…I had no idea she was working with the Feds."

Boss stared hard at him for over a minute. "We shall see," he said simply. "A little test, if you will." Boss pulled out his gun and handed it to Woody. "This is your mess, so take care of it."

The room was completely silent as Woody took the gun. He kept his face hardened. "Fine," he spat. He turned to Matthews and Taylor. "Go get the car ready for me," he barked.

The two men looked at Boss first. "Why?" Taylor asked stupidly.

"So I can get rid of the body, you idiot!" Woody screamed. He saw Jordan flinch, and his heart ached. He wanted to shoot the lot of them.

Boss nodded, and his servants left. Looking at Woody, he said, "Do it quickly."

Woody nodded back and moved toward Jordan. She cried out when he grabbed her roughly, pulling her to her feet. He felt her body trembling as he dragged her to himself, and then through the study's other exit.

He slammed the door and waited, expecting Boss to follow him and make sure he killed her. When no such thing happened, Woody changed his grip on Jordan, nearly cradling her.

"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered to her. Jordan looked up at him, her fearful eyes burning into his. She grabbed his arm tightly.

"I'm going to get you out of here, okay? Just do what I say," he continued. "Trust me, sweetheart."

Jordan hesitated for a heartbeat, and then nodded. "Okay," Woody said. He looked around the room. Finding a chair, he walked both of them over to it and aimed his gun at the middle. He put his mouth right next to Jordan's ear and said, "Scream."

She did, loudly…and Woody followed it with two gunshots into the empty chair. He dropped the gun and held her, shushing her quietly and leading her to a nearby sofa. Once there, he took out a knife from his pocket and rolled up his sleeve.

Jordan, correctly guessing what he was about to do, made to protest. Woody quickly placed his finger over her mouth and shook his head. Jordan nodded. She watched, horror-struck, as Woody sliced his forearm.

He walked back to the chair and used his own blood to cover the bullet holes and some of the chair's fabric. When he walked back to Jordan, she reached out and touched his injured arm softly. Tears fell from her eyes. Woody tenderly ran his hand through her hair, telling her with his eyes that it was okay.

He pulled a blanket off of the sofa, and gently wrapped Jordan up in it. "Go limp," he whispered as he picked her up over his shoulder. Jordan did, letting one of her hands slip out of the blanket and hang down.

Woody jerked open the door, coming face-to-face with the other three men. He passed them quickly without speaking. Out the door and onto the driveway, Woody found one of the cars already running.

He tossed Jordan onto the back seat as gently as he could without rousing suspicion, and she didn't make a sound. For a second, Woody irrationally thought that Jordan was really dead.

He walked around to the driver's side, looked back at his 'accomplices,' and said, "I'll be back in two hours." He got in, slammed the door, and drove off.

After five minutes worth of driving, Woody finally spoke. "Jordan?" He glanced at her in the rearview mirror and saw her head appear from under the blanket. "You okay?" he asked tentatively. It was stupid question.

"Yeah," she replied with a wince.

Woody swallowed hard. "Jordan…Taylor and Matthews…did they…?"

"No," she said. Woody sighed with relief. "I tripped and my ankle broke," she continued. "I couldn't walk, and they caught up with me…I think they were too angry to think of doing anything else…so…they just started kicking me…my ribs are broken." She grimaced again, and Woody slowed down so as not to jostle her.

"I'm sorry," he said back to her.

"It's not your fault," she answered weakly. Woody nodded, even though it still felt like it was.

They continued in silence after that, and then Woody noticed a car pull up next to them. Woody looked over, afraid that it would be Matthews or Taylor sent to check up on him, but saw Agent Dawson's face instead. The man made a gesture for Woody to follow him, then sped up ahead.

"We're almost there, Jor," Woody assured her as he followed the FBI car onto a deserted country road.


	10. ILoveYou's

**Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! They are a great lift. Enjoy chapter 10!:-)**

Chapter Ten: I-Love-You's

As soon as Woody put the car into park, FBI agents and EMT workers descended on it like vultures. The car doors opened, and Dawson nearly pulled Woody out of the car and dragged him to the side.

"Wait!" Woody said, looking back to where the medics were easing Jordan onto a gurney.

"Sorry," Dawson said curtly, "but we don't have time. You've got to get back there and—"

"Go back?" Woody interrupted, looking incredulous. "I'm not going back. Look at Jordan! I can't go back with her hurt…and you've got them anyway!"

Dawson shook his head. "No, we don't. We still don't know 'Boss's' identity, and he hasn't done anything that will send him to prison for long!"

Woody threw his hands into the air. "He told me to kill Jordan—that's murder for hire, isn't it? Why can't you arrest him and run his prints?"

"Because you didn't actually murder Jordan!" Dawson said, becoming angry. "Unless you'd like to do it now? Then we'd have a case."

Woody shook his head. "I don't care. I'm not going back. We never should have agreed to this in the first place."

"But you did, and you have to stick with it until it's over."

"It _is_ over," Woody asserted. "There's no point to going back. The heist is over…they're halfway to discovering who I really am…it's just over."

Dawson paused a moment, thinking. "Woody," he said finally, "If you don't go back, they'll _know _you're working with us. They'll _know_ that you didn't really kill Jordan. They many not know who you are, but they know Jordan. If you don't go back, they'll come after her again."

As Dawson expected, his words struck a chord in Woody. He looked up at Jordan, alarmed. Woody's eyes changed, and Dawson knew that he'd got what he wanted.

"What do I need to do to finish this?" Woody asked. Dawson led him farther away to talk.

In the middle of the conversation, Woody glanced up when he noticed more movement. His eyes widened when he saw the ambulance moving down the road.

"Hey!" he called and began running after it.

Dawson caught up to him quickly. "They're just taking Jordan to the hospital. She'll be fine," he said.

Woody, however, was not pacified. "And you couldn't let me say goodbye?" he asked. "Is it not enough that I have to go back into a hornet's nest? You can't even give me small courtesies anymore?"

Dawson, at least, had the good grace to look ashamed.

* * *

Jordan was barely aware of being placed on the gurney and taken into the ambulance. She trusted the EMTs to do their jobs, and was content to just lay there.

Her senses sharpened when she heard the doors slam shut and the large automobile begin to move. "Where's Woody?" she asked, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

The medic sitting beside her answered. "He's going back undercover, so he can't come with you," the woman said while gently pushing Jordan back down.

Jordan shook her head, panic flooding her. "No! He can't—it's not safe—how could they—?" She tried to sit up again…to force her way off of the gurney, but the woman held her there.

"He'll be fine," she placated, though it had no effect.

Jordan shook her head. She wanted Woody there with her…needed him here. The more she thought about it, the more her fear grew.

Woody was in too much danger. Matthews and Taylor were idiots, but Boss wasn't. He'd figure it out eventually; then he'd kill Woody. Jordan squeezed her eyes shut, trying to squeeze the terrifying thoughts out of her mind.

She needed Woody here…needed to hold his hand…to tell him she loved him.

* * *

By the time Woody had driven back to the house, his anger at Dawson had reached a boiling point.

Upon entry, Taylor charged up to him. Woody snapped at the man when he started asking moronic questions. Growling that he needed a shower, Woody stormed up the stairs and slammed the door to his bedroom.

He walked straight to the bathroom and started running the water. He stood under the hot spray and thought about Jordan.

Woody wasn't stupid…he knew Dawson had used his feelings for Jordan against him. But Woody didn't care. He would protect Jordan, no matter what he had to do. In a twisted way, he was almost glad Dawson had brought it up…it was true that Jordan was safer now.

The thing that bothered Woody the most was, if things ended badly, Jordan would never know why he went back. She would never know that he loved her.

The now-frigid water brought Woody out of his trance, and he got out of the shower. After drying off and changing, Woody moved back into his bedroom.

He scrounged around in the nightstand's drawers and found a piece of paper and a pen. Carefully, he wrote out "I love you, Jordan" on the paper. Then Woody folded it up and stuck it in his shirt pocket.

There. Now, if anything happened to him, at least Jordan would know.


	11. Dealing

**Hey there! You all are awesome--thanks for the reviews! Enjoy:-D**

Chapter Eleven: Dealing

Jordan spent the next few days in thinly-controlled panic. She wanted to know what was happening to Woody, but Agent Dawson had been nowhere in sight. She called his office, but the secretary wouldn't even leave a message for her.

The constant worry, coupled with exhaustion and her injuries, made life nearly unbearable. Jordan snapped at her nurses—the only people she could unleash her anger on—and actually let Lily see her cry.

When the tears started falling, the grief counselor wrapped Jordan in a giant bear hug as only she could. She didn't say anything—there were no words that could truly bring Jordan comfort. Everyone was worried about Woody. Instead, Lily rubbed Jordan's back and rocked her, trying to convey her care.

Once Jordan had regained control, Lily spoke. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. Jordan looked at her warily, causing Lily to add, "I'm not your counselor, Jordan. I'm your friend."

Jordan nodded a bit and closed her eyes. Two more tears slipped out. She tried to talk, but all she got out was, "Woody." Then her breathing returned to gasps, and Jordan crumpled into Lily's arms again.

This was worse, much worse, than when Woody had gotten shot. Not knowing anything, even where he was, was killing Jordan. She had no idea if he was okay…or if he was dead…and the FBI had simply forgotten about her. What did they care than the most important person in her life was risking his on their mission?

Jordan moaned into Lily's shoulder. If only she had never insisted on being kept in the loop…if she had just given the Feds the body, this would never have happened. This was all her fault, really.

* * *

Woody sat on the floor of the bathroom, his back propped against the door. He felt as if he had aged a hundred years in the last few days. Being undercover with Jordan had been hard enough…by himself, it was excruciating. Before, he had Jordan to tether him to reality. He had never felt more alone in his life.

Now, as well, he was realizing just how stupid his companions—no, captors—were. He couldn't get away from them…Boss had taken off once Woody had returned, but he ordered Matthews and Taylor to keep watch over him. Woody wasn't allowed to leave the house. It was all he could do not to pull out his gun and shoot Dumb and Dumber. They were blood-thirsty, greedy idiots.

Instead, Woody focused his energy on finding a buyer for the painting. The three men had been sifting through files day and night on several perspectives…but none of them were willing to pay what Boss wanted them too. Woody would have thought that Boss would have made some kind of deal—it was what normal business men did, after all—but Boss was holding out for a bigger score.

Woody didn't care about that. He was interested in buyers because that was the only way he could see of bringing Boss out into the open. As soon as there was a payoff, Dawson and his little minions could swoop down and take over. And Woody could go home.

* * *

"Garret, take me there now!" Jordan shouted at him. Garret had picked Jordan up from the hospital. He had no intention of taking her to the FBI building…she was going straight home where someone could watch out for her.

"No, Jordan," he replied calmly. "I'm taking you home…either my place or yours, but not anywhere else."

She looked at him, flabbergasted. "Garret!" she shouted. "How can you? Woody's out there…I have to find out if he's okay!"

Garret shook his head. "No one in that office is going to tell you anything. We've all been trying all week…all they tell us is that we 'don't need to know.'"

"Yes, we do need to know!"

"I know," Garret sighed. "But there's nothing you or I can do. You can't just storm into the building and demand answers. That's not how the Feds work." He glanced into the back seat at Jordan's crutches, privately thinking that she wouldn't be 'storming' into any place for a while.

Jordan pounded the car door in frustration. "I don't care!"

"Jordan, if you try to force your way into Dawson's office, they'll probably kill you." Garret was grasping at straws now.

"No they won't," Jordan countered. "Shooting an unarmed person on crutches? It'd be a PR nightmare." She looked at him beseechingly. "Please, Garret. I have to try…I can't just do nothing."

Garret sighed and flipped on his turn signal. He couldn't deny her any longer…not when he wanted to do the very same thing.

* * *

That same morning found Woody hunched, once again, over a profile of some ridiculously wealthy art collector who was interested in the black market Van Gogh. He was thinking that this guy's bid was so low that he didn't stand a snowball's chance when the phone rang.

Woody let it ring…Matthews usually did the phone talks, as Woody couldn't be trusted and Taylor's IQ was too low to handle subtle conversation. On the third ring, though, Woody got annoyed and picked it up himself.

"Yes."

"_This is Browning. I have a counter offer for your boss_," the voice said.

"I'm listening."

"_Five million_."

Woody's eyebrows shot up…that was more, by far, than any of the other offers.

"_But I have one condition_," the voice continued. "_We do the deal in person, and I meet your boss. I won't buy unless I know who I'm dealing with_."

Woody smiled, victorious. "That can be arranged."


	12. Where's Woody?

**Whoohoo...getting closer. I tried to pull off a "where's waldo" type of title for this one...but it just doesn't have the same ring to it. Oh, well. Thank you for all of your reviews. Enjoy:-)**

Chapter Twelve: Where's Woody?

Jordan was fuming. Her apartment, to which Garret had unceremoniously restricted her, was closing in on her. Her broken ankle made things worse…there was no good way to release the physical tension growing inside her.

The foray into FBI headquarters hadn't done any good. Actually, Garret surmised that it had made things much worse. Not only were the agents unwilling to give them any information, but now they were also very ticked off.

He observed Jordan quietly from his seat in the recliner. She was rigid, her hands pulling tightly at the pillow in her lap. Her jaw jutted out, but her face was not still. It looked like she was using all her energy not to scream.

Garret felt for Jordan. He was worried about Woody too—Woody was family. But the man was so much more than that to Jordan. Garret could only imagine what horrendous scenarios Jordan was playing through in her head.

Sighing, he reached over and grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills sitting on the end table. He got up and reseated himself on the coffee table directly in front of Jordan. She looked at him.

"Take these," he said. He pressed the bottle into Jordan's hand.

She shook her head. "No…I don't want to sleep," she replied. "If something happens, I want to know."

Garret took her free hand in his. "You'll never get through this if you don't," he said. "Your body needs rest, and your mind and heart need a break. I promise if I hear anything I'll wake you up."

Jordan stared at him for a long time. Garret didn't waver. Finally, her shoulders slumped and she opened the bottle. Grudgingly, Jordan dry swallowed two of the pills.

"Happy?" she asked.

Garret gave her a half-smile. "Not really."

Then he joined her on the couch and held her until Jordan fell asleep.

* * *

Woody's body hummed in anticipation. The deal was set up. All of them were about to go meet the buyer at some warehouse on the harbor. Woody knew that these things could be dangerous…everyone else involved was a criminal, after all…but he was more excited about this being the last thing Michael Donovan would ever to do. Once the "transaction" was made, the FBI would come in all their blazing glory and he could go home back to Jordan and be Woody Hoyt again.

He shoved the ridiculous camera glasses on his face and went downstairs to join the others.

When he got there, he noticed that the two were unusually quiet. Boss was there as well, which was probably the reason…his presence was daunting enough to make anyone shut up.

"Ready?" Boss asked.

Woody nodded. "Let's do this."

The painting was transferred into the trunk of the car and they piled in, Boss as driver and Woody riding shot gun.

Boss started the engine. "Well, Detective Hoyt, are you ready for a show?"

The use of his real name made Woody's blood run cold. He looked over at Boss. Boss chuckled.

"Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?" he asked sadistically. Then, he pulled the glasses and the button with the GPS system off of Woody and tossed them out of the car window.

With Woody stuck in the car Boss changed gears and drove off, smashing the tracking devices under his tires as he went.

* * *

Jordan woke up in a haze. It seemed that she had lived in that haze most of the week since she'd been back at her place. The fuzziness wasn't bad—it was the part when it cleared up that she hated.

When the fog lifted, Jordan sat up and looked around. There was no one, which was strange—Garret had made sure that Jordan always had a babysitter since she came home. She knew it wasn't so much because of her injuries, but because they were afraid she'd try to find Woody.

With a great effort, Jordan pushed herself to her feet. She leaned on the sofa arms and various other furniture to get herself to the kitchen counter. Her crutches were propped up beside the front door—another tactic for making her stay home. One the counter was a note:

_Jordan—_

_You're out of milk, so I went to get some. I'll be right back. Stay here._

_Nigel_

Jordan snorted. It looked like the shift changed while she was asleep. Lily had been there before.

She looked around the empty apartment. Her purse and keys were on the table next to her crutches. Her left ankle was broken, but she could still drive. If she could get to her car before Nigel came back….

* * *

Jordan pulled her car into a space at the FBI building. She had successfully eluded Nigel, and now she was going to get answers.

The receptionist gave her trouble—the lady had remembered Jordan's last appearance. But Jordan had a convincing lie ready…she remembered that she had found something while she was undercover that could help the case, and she needed to see Agent Dawson now.

"No, I don't need any help," Jordan said after the woman offered to assist her to his office. She smiled sweetly and walked to the elevators.

Once there, Jordan knocked sharply on Dawson's door. "Come in," he said.

When he saw who it was, he picked up his phone to call security.

"Don't," Jordan said, hating the pleading she heard in her voice. "I just want to know if he's okay."

Dawson put down the phone. He contemplated his desk for a full minute before he answered her. "He's fine. They're meeting with the buyer today…if it goes well, Woody will—"

Before he finished his sentence, his door opened again. A tall man entered; Jordan remembered him as the tech guy who outfitted them with all the spy gadgets.

"We lost him," he said without preamble. "The boss uncovered Hoyt, and then the camera and the GPS went blank."


	13. Jordan to the Rescue

**Aye! A thousand apologies...been away from the house the past 3 weekends, and being off of a schedule is actually worse for me than having tons of free time.:-P Anyway, enjoy and thanks for your reviews!:-)**

Chapter Thirteen: Jordan to the Rescue

Whatever the FBI agents said next was unheard by Jordan. All she could hear was a loud rushing sound in her ears, accompanied by the unbearable feeling of fear growing in the pit of her stomach. Without a word, she stumbled blindly toward the hallway.

As soon as Jordan was through the door, a pair of strong arms encircled her and held her up. Jordan didn't know who it was, but she gripped him back anyway.

"Jordan, are you okay?" the man asked. Garret. Jordan tightened her hold on him and pressed her face into his chest.

"Woody's…he's…," Jordan couldn't say anymore; she was now gasping for air.

Just then the agents came bursting from the office. They were halfway down the hall before Dawson responded to Garret's shouts. "What's going on?" he asked.

Dawson sighed. "We've lost contact with Woody. The visual and GPS feeds just went blank…we think he was made."

Supporting Jordan, Garret made his way through the hallway until he was inches from Dawson's face. "We're doing everything we can," the agent responded hastily. "If you two would just go home and wait, I'll—"

"We're not going anywhere," Garret said firmly.

After a 30-second staring contest, Dawson backed down. He led them to a conference room where they waited…and waited…and waited. Neither of them spoke; they just sat there with Jordan's hand enclosed between Garret's.

Finally, Dawson reappeared. His face looked grave; they knew it was not good news. The agent paused in front of them, contemplating the tabletop. "We've tried reconnecting the devices…we've been through the house…they knew we would do a search—there was no clue as to where they're going."

Jordan's eyes filled with tears. Garret squeezed her hand. "Any chance they'll come back to the house?" he asked.

Dawson shook his head. "I doubt it, and even if they do it will be too late."

"NO!" Jordan screeched. "You got him into this mess! You have to—you have to find him!"

"We're not giving up, Dr. Cavanaugh," Dawson replied, "but we have to be realistic at the same time."

Jordan shook her head forcefully. "No…no!"

Without anything more to say, Dawson shrugged his shoulders apologetically and left the room.

Neither Garret nor Jordan moved for a few moments. Then, Jordan grabbed her purse and crutches and headed for the door.

Garret stood up. "Where are you going?"

"To find Woody," she answered.

"Jordan!"

She turned and looked into his eyes. "I can't sit by and not do anything. There has to be something in that house—the Feds must have missed it. I know the place better than them. I can find it."

She looked so determined that Garret was hesitant to stop her. "I'll come with you, then."

"No. What if these thugs do come back? I don't want any more of my friends in danger."

With that, Jordan scuttled out the door, leaving a bewildered and anxious Garret behind.

* * *

Jordan had never driven so fast in her life. She thought it was a miracle that there were no cops…though she wouldn't have pulled over if there had been.

A rolling screen of images from all the "reconnaissance" missions she had done with Taylor and Matthews played through her mind as she remembered how to get back to the house.

Once she arrived, Jordan saw that the entrances were covered with yellow police tape. But that had never stopped her before.

The house was quiet…an eerie quiet that made Jordan's spine tingle. She squashed her fear and made her way to the study. A quick glance told her that the Feds had already taken anything of worth, so she abandoned it and struggled up the stairs.

To her surprise, and indignation, Woody's bedroom appeared untouched. His bed was made, his suitcase opened with clothes inside, but not disturbed. Did they not think that Woody would have known where the meet was?

Jordan looked everywhere in his room…but there were no hints, no messages…maybe Woody hadn't known.

Feeling panicky, Jordan moved into the bathroom. There was a single set of clothing on the floor. Desperately Jordan picked them up and began searching through the pockets.

Her heart thrilled when she found a small piece of paper in the breast pocket of Woody's shirt. She swiftly unfolded it and read it.

_I love you, Jordan_.

Tears filled her eyes and spilled over before Jordan could stop them. She traced the writing with her finger…she couldn't live without Woody. Carefully, she refolded the paper and tucked it into her pocket and observed the rest of his clothing.

His jeans were the only thing left; if they were empty…Jordan didn't think she could bear it.

The first pocket yielded nothing, but the second had another scrap of paper. She opened it upside down, almost afraid to read it. Turning it over, her heart skipped a beat. She grabbed her phone and frantically dialed Garret's number.

"_Jordan."_

"Garret! I know where he is!"

"_Where?" _Garret's voice was just as frenzied as hers.

"In a warehouse off Queen Street…Woody had the address in one of his jeans pockets."

"_Okay, here. Tell Dawson."_

The agent didn't even get a word in before Jordan spoke. "522 West Queen Street. It's warehouse number 18."

"_Are you sure?"_

Jordan nearly screamed at him. "Yes, yes! It says so right here on this paper…it's in Woody's handwriting. They're meeting a buyer from Morocco at 6 PM at the warehouse. Please, go find him!"

"_All right, we'll look. You come back here now."_ The line went dead.

Jordan closed her phone and shouldered her purse. Dawson could order her to do whatever he wanted, but she wouldn't listen. She was going straight to that warehouse.


	14. Game Over

**Hey! Thanks for being patient...I think you'll like this chapter. Only one more to go; I'm working on a sort-of sequel for my next story. Thank you, as always, for your great reviews. Enjoy:-)**

Chapter Fourteen: Game Over

Jordan burned rubber all the way to the warehouses. She only slowed down in case Boss and his men were outside—she didn't want to give herself away.

That wouldn't be a problem, though, Jordan realized when she pulled up to the warehouse listed on Woody's piece of paper. The Feds were already had a perimeter set up and effectively blocked her car from getting anywhere close.

Impatiently, Jordan got out of her car and started out on foot. Even with her crutches, she breezed right passed the officer and into the hub of FBI agents preparing for the strike.

She scanned the crowd until she made Dawson, and began moving toward him. He caught her eye briefly and turned away. Jordan's anger flared up, but before she could do anything about it, another agent stepped in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but you can't be here," he said.

"I don't care what you say," Jordan spat. "I need to talk to Agent Dawson."

She tried to move around the man, but he blocked her. "Agent Dawson is the one who gave me the orders," he replied calmly. "Now, if you'll come with me, you can sit in the car until this is all over."

Jordan fumed. "NO! I have to be there! You don't understand, I—"

"The outcome of this will not change whether you are in the middle of this or not," the agent said calmly. He took her elbow and began leading her to his car. "You'll either be waiting over there, or over here…so you might as well be able to sit."

They had reached his car. Unaffected by her protests, he plucked Jordan's crutches out of her hands and pushed her gently into the back seat. In a small gesture at kindness, he left the door open so she could hear what was going on. He leaned against the car beside Jordan, and put the crutches on his other side—out of her reach.

Jordan was not good at waiting, especially when it involved someone she loved. She watched the Feds, a continuous stream of criticism and angry questions pouring out of her mouth. The agent watching her had to keep pushing her back down in her seat because Jordan kept trying to leave.

On the third time he had to re-seat her, the agent spoke. "Look, Dawson is doing everything he can to make sure your friend gets out safe. It takes time to do these things right. Dawson may be ruthless, but he doesn't sacrifice people in order to get the bad guys."

Jordan looked at him, incredulity written all over her face. The agent backtracked. "Okay, even if he _is_, the rest of the agents _aren't_, and they'll put him in his place if need be."

It didn't satisfy Jordan, but she had no other comment to make. She slumped back in her seat and hugged herself tightly. Tension was mounting in her stomach. When the agents moved finally moved into the warehouse, her stomach knotted even more. Before she knew it, silent tears of apprehension were falling down her cheeks.

They waited for a long time…even longer than when the Feds were getting ready to go in. Why was it taking so long? Was something wrong?

Just when Jordan's anxiety was about to spill over, the noise started. Gunshots. Lots of them. Jordan's heart stopped and she froze. Likewise, the agent was focused on the noise.

Then there was nothing but silence. Both she and the agent were looking towards the door, but no one was coming out. Jordan held herself so tightly her fingernails bit into her skin.

Finally, the door opened. Jordan didn't wait to see who was coming out; she sprung out of the car too quickly even for the agent. She grabbed for the crutches, and handed one. It was enough for her, and she walked as quickly as she could toward the warehouse door.

Once she was about halfway there, Jordan could tell that it was the Feds...Dawson was in the lead, but she couldn't see Woody. She hobbled closer frantically, but stopped when she got within three feet of the returning crowd.

Dawson looked at her hard and then walked away. Behind him was Woody. He had taken a bad beating—he had bruises all over, one arm was in a makeshift sling, and he was limping. But he never looked so good to Jordan. In a whoosh, all the breath she had been holding escaped.

He walked over to her and they looked at each other. Tearfully, Jordan raised her arm and cupped his cheek with her hand gently. Woody mimicked her. They didn't speak; words weren't necessary. They already knew everything the other was telling them.

A single tear tracked down Jordan's face, and Woody brushed it away with his thumb. That's when Jordan broke. She flung her arms around him, buried her face in his chest, and sobbed. Woody's good arm circled her shoulders and held her tightly. He kissed the top of her head, and Jordan could feel his tears falling on her hair.

They stayed like that for a long time. Agents milled about them, but they didn't notice. Finally, Woody bent low and whispered into Jordan's ear. "Let's go home, Jo."

Jordan pulled back and wiped her eyes. She nodded at Woody. They each turned, still with one arm around each other. Using Jordan's one crutch to steady the both of them, they headed toward the cars…together.


	15. Denouement

**Hello! Final chapter...everything's all wrapped up in a bow. Or maybe not...my next story will be loosely tied to this one. But give me a couple of weekends, with Thanksgiving and all I'll be plenty busy. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. Enjoy:-)**

Chapter Fifteen: Denouement

The next morning, Woody and Jordan sat side-by-side on the couch in her office. Each one had their injured legs propped up on the coffee table. Their hands were intertwined, and Jordan's head rested against Woody's shoulder.

Garret was there, explaining everything that had happened after Jordan had run out of the FBI office, and everything that had happened since Woody's rescue. The pair listened silently, except for the occasional derogatory comment directed toward Agent Dawson.

"He's currently under review," Garret added after Jordan's last remark. "Apparently, putting civilians into obviously dangerous situations in which the Feds can't guarantee their protection is frowned upon with the higher-ups. I don't think Dawson will have a job much longer."

Jordan snorted. "He deserves worse," she said.

Garret nodded. "Yeah, but you should take what you can get. At least he won't be doing it anymore."

He paused then added. "And that goes for you guys, too. No more undercover work, okay? I can only take so much stress."

Jordan nudged Woody and said, "Don't worry, he won't."

Woody looked at her incredulously. He put an arm around her shoulders and retorted, "And neither will Jordan, Dr. Macy. Even if I have to tie her down."

Jordan made a face at Woody, but laughed anyway. Garret just rolled his eyes and bid them good-bye.

They continued sitting together for a long time. The quietness of the room, coupled with the soft sunlight floating through the windows almost put them to sleep. They were so comfortable together…Woody wished he could stay there forever.

"Woody?"

Jordan's voice brought him back from his thoughts. "Yeah?"

He couldn't see her face, since it was still resting against his shoulder, but her words came out loud and clear. "I read your note…the one you left at the house."

Woody smiled. "I meant it, Jo."

"I know."

He squeezed her shoulders gently and kissed the top of her head.

"Woody?" she said again. Her voice was quieter this time.

"Hmmm?"

Jordan shifted so that she was looking at his face. Her voice was nearly a whisper, but she held his gaze steadily. "I love you, too."

Woody used his free hand to gently cup her cheek. "I know," he whispered back.

Then, he kissed her. It was slow, gentle, and full of love. Time stopped, and speeded up at the same time. The kiss was a fulfillment of their past, and a promise for the future.

When they parted, both of them smiled shyly back at each other. Then Woody pulled Jordan back to him, and settled her head back on his shoulder. She wrapped her arm around his chest and snuggled closer. She sighed contentedly.

Both of them were thinking the same thing—_finally_.


End file.
